Master Class's new album is playing, his cut-and-paste beats hopping out of the speaker system, filling every corner of the shop. From the chill-out back where Luke or Inchul occupy the couch when they're not at the office or off work altogether, to the one stool that we use as a work bench, the counter and the front where the decks and shirts and hats and shoes are displayed.
I'm sitting at the register till, the chair too low to sit comfortably. It's past three and not a single customer has come through the door yet. Outside, people are walking up and downhill, from left to right. Everyone is headed somewhere. The melodies are floating, the bass tickling the dust bunnies. The sun is shining through the glass front, shadowing the shop name on the floor.
The orders are already dealt with, the products packed and the boxes taped and labelled. The afternoon brought no further tasks but what's always on the list: keep the shop clean and the customers happy. It was a quiet day. I can't remember the last time the shop was this deserted. I usually spend the spare time at work with other work, but today I leaned back and listened.
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